Habit
by Calculated Artificiality
Summary: Post-ep fic for "In the Red." inspired by listening to Cee-Lo Green's "F*ck You" on repeat.


WARNING: SPOILERS FOR 3x01! Also- T for language. There's some curse words flying about. You've been warned.

A/N: Not my best work, by far- but the idea had been swimming around in my head, so ok. It's swimming around here now.  
Wrote it in first person because I tried it otherwise and it did. not. work.

The song that inspired the fic. can be found at the end. :) (well, relevant lines anyway).

-Natalie

* * *

I saw them heading out of the building and it was a last minute decision to go after them. I'm still not quite sure what possessed me to do it. Okay, I'm pretty sure, but confession isn't something I'm quite ready for yet.

What I found was not what I had expected—was not what I had thought I was getting myself into.

"Mother Superior."

I felt my heart flit into my stomach and root around for what could have only conceivably been a millisecond, but what felt more like an hour or so.

I shrugged slightly and tried not to flinch. At least he'd given up lying—he said once he didn't think of me as the good girl. Now, at least he'd given up lying about the way he saw me—at least he was being honest for a godforsaken change. I had to give him that, at least, didn't I?

And maybe I shouldn't have frozen **our** bank account, but I'll be damned if I'll sit idly by and watch as he throws everything I've spent a good part of my adult life working for out the window for some renegade, misguided, self-indulgent (and not to mention serving) desire he has to thwart authority. Or at least, as though I'll sit idly by as he does it again.

Tonight, though, he's chosen to thwart _my _authority. There was a time I questioned whether or not I had any, actually, in the company. Sure, I was a partner in The Lightman Group, but it never really felt as though I had any real say-so. The last couple of years he'd done well to rectify that, he'd done well to convince me that no, I did have some say. That yes, I was a part of the company. He'd even gone so far as to posit that I was an integral part of The Lightman Group—the only buoy out in the cold, dark financial waters.

Clearly, he'd been being Cal all along and had been misleading about the truth of the matter. And the worst part of it all? The truth didn't even lie somewhere in the proverbial middle of the proverbial spectrum! The truth was all the way at one end—he not only thought me "the good girl," he thought me a nag as well.

He thought he bore no responsibility in my cleaning up after him. He'd made it a necessity. He'd made it my habit—and every goddamn day he demanded that I wear it. He demanded I cloak myself in it while he went above and beyond the call of duty making messes I'd inevitably have to clean up. And then he had the audacity and the nerve to resent me for it.

But when I signed on ("Those were the days") it wasn't to occupy janitorial capacities, and it wasn't to be a glorified babysitter. It wasn't to walk around in boring black and white and be complimented one day and insulted the next. It was for the work—and if I'm honest with myself, it was for him.

"Mother Superior." I felt that feeling in my stomach, and it traveled to my throat where it lodged—then my face felt hot as realization swept over me.

That_ was the last motherfucking straw._

Because I actually know a thing or two about Mother Superiors—it's an elected position within the church. That's right. It's voted by secret ballot within the community. Or in this very perverse case, within the Lightman company.

I'd been voted Mother Superior by _everyone_ in the Lightman Group, Cal Lightman included.

And I just abandoned my fucking post.

I watched his face as a smile crept over mine. I flashed contempt, which he recognized, and then something deeper—a dare, of sorts.

You see, I know Cal Lightman all too well (it's true he only _thinks _he knows me), and there was no way in hell that he was going to shy away from the challenge I issued.

His eyes went dark. "What's that, Foster?" he asked, directly after my laugh, a look of surprise and curiosity passing over his face.

"You heard me, _bishop_." I responded, my absolute disdain quite evident so that he, who was _not_ the voice expert as he so astutely reminded me earlier this evening, could hear it swaddle my words in its warmth.

His eyebrows rose slightly at the venom I injected, "Wanna repeat it?" He asked, disbelief manifesting itself around his own words.

I smiled genuinely then—the rebellion was now in full swing.

I stepped closer to him. He was still some sort of awkward British barrier between Detective Wallowski and myself (quite literally at the moment), and I made sure to keep my distance, but leaned my head in and slightly to the right, specifically imitating him.

"Fuck you." His eyebrows jumped up and his eyes widened in surprise—I'm sure it was different to hear it fall from my lips than to read it on my face.

I smiled again and began to walk away—they were both watching me as my heels began their click down the corridor. I considered my predicament—and decide that it really _is _all or nothing, and so I half turned back to face them.

His face really was priceless, I'll be recalling it for years to come, I'm certain—it was a funny mix of surprise, shock and anger—and something else that I didn't really give a little tiny shit about reading right then. Her face was not unreadable, but it was just so goddamn boring. I made a show of pointedly looking between the two of them, before I let what I was about to say seep onto my face.

"And uh," I looked at him and raise my eyebrows, then nod my head in Detective Wallowski's direction "fuck her, too."

Without sparing a glance at her, I registered his look briefly, smiled dramatically, and then turned on my heel. I put a little bit of spring in my step as I walked away without looking back, and I _know_ that he could read the smile in my body language as I opened the door and stepped into the brisk air of the dark D.C. night.

_Mother Superior has left the _fucking_ building.—and she'll not be back. She'll give no more absolution. _

* * *

mmmkay. I know it's not great. But I seriously needed to write SOMETHING after that ep. And I was introduced to Cee Lo Green's "F*ck You" this weekend and it just seemed so perfectly fitting.

Particularly I drew inspiration from these few lyrics (only, you know, pretend it's a chick singing)

"i guess the change in my pocket wasn't enough,  
**I'm like "fuck you! and uh, fuck her too!"**  
said if i was richer, i'd still be with her-  
now ain't that some shit? (ain't that some shit)?  
**and although there's pains in my chest, i still wish you the best**  
**with a "fuck you!"**

**_i guess she's an x-box,_**  
**_and i'm more an Atari,_**  
but the way you play your game ain't fair—

I got some news for you—  
Ooh, I really hate your ass right now."

So sorry if you hated it. But I just had to write it.  
for better or for worse:

review. kthx.


End file.
